


Take Flight on Paper Wings

by poodledae



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deaf Character, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Origami, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodledae/pseuds/poodledae
Summary: Prince Jongdae longs to talk to the boy who sits among the apple trees.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47
Collections: SnowSpark Fest Round One





	Take Flight on Paper Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: #298  
> Summary: Minseok is deaf but Jongdae doesn’t know how to sign. That’s why he decides to get the boy’s attention in some other way–origami.  
> Authors Note: Alright, not gonna lie, I fell in love this prompt as soon as I spotted it. I know I for sure wanted to make the story a little longer than it turned out, but hey, life happens, things crept up on me, and I was super pushed for time.  
> To my wonderful prompter, I hope it meets your expectations despite this! I've enjoyed origami from a young age, and found it unusually motivating to make some (slightly less colourful) animals alongside Jongdae through the course of drafting, and I think I've picked up a new/old(?) hobby thanks to your sweet little prompt.  
> This was my first time entering a fest of any kind, and I gotta admit that I had a lot of fun with it. Thank you to the wonderful mods for being so supportive and thoughtful, and in general making my experience worth it.
> 
> Took a light bit of inspiration from 'To be a Butterfly' by William Wordsworth,(because I'm a renowned poetry nerd and simply could not stop myself) as well as 'Dear my Dear'.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated~!

.⋅ εïз ⋅.

Young prince Jongdae roams the palace garden as he does every Saturday. He looks forward to waking before the rest of the household so that he can slip outside to seek the warm kiss of the sun. He stops to close his eyes and let the rays wash over him, to bathe his hair in an even richer honey glow. And Jongdae sighs, a serene smile grazing his lips and tipping the ends up into cat-like curls, face tilted towards the sun as if he were its cherished flower.

The garden has always been left to grow free, for the most part. Jongdae spent a large portion of his childhood chasing through the trees and hiding among flowerbeds with Baekhyun, collecting crisp leaves the gardeners might have missed, drawing in the patches of dirt with sticks and chirping back at the birds. Trees overhang the entrance to the garden, creating an archway of intertwined branches and leaves that have grown thicker as the years pass by. 

His unconscious mind leads him around the flowers, and along the cobble path to the familiar parting of the hedge. An orchard wraps itself around one side of the garden, hidden by the natural wall. It’s almost magical how the garden has been left to thrive to its own accord. The workers keep it in shape, help maintain its born charm, and Jongdae wishes he could spend the rest of his life among them.

The prince navigates along the thin gravel path that meanders around the apple trees. The fruit shines brightly against the leaves, and he is reminded that it’s almost time for them to be harvested. The tiny stones crunch beneath his boots as they take him along a well accustomed route.

As beautiful as the apple trees are, the boy who sits among them cannot be compared.

After pestering his servant, and best friend, Baekhyun, the prince came to find that he was one of the gardeners. Which _does_ make sense, as Jongdae gazes slack-jawed at the nimble fingers that slit, weave and twist the stalks of dandelions together. Some may see them as weeds, flowers that grow only to be destroyed, but the boy always makes use of them in some way. Jongdae has also caught him crouched in front of the strawberry plants, glancing left then right before slipping some into his pocket. He sits with a pouch of them somewhere to his left as he works the dandelions into one long chain, pausing to press a strawberry to his lips for a few seconds before he bites. (Jongdae turns as red as the fruit when he catches himself staring intently at the habit). He always packs the pouch away when there are exactly three left.

He sits in peace, and Jongdae can’t help but feel entranced by the gardener. Jongdae finds a type of escape in his tranquillity, the boy who sits alone, who’s black hair falls just past his eyes, who’s strawberry lips sit in a focused pout, and who’s dark collared shirt hugs his back in an embrace Jongdae wants to stand in for. His butterfly, who can stay for hours among the apple trees, lost in his own subdued happiness before he takes flight.

The young prince longs to talk to him, but he doesn’t know how.

“Baekhyun, how do I talk to someone I’ve never met?”

The individual turns, a small line between his brows, “What is that supposed to mean?” Taking note of Jongdae’s sudden interest in the wall, he sighs. “Is this about Minseok?”

“Minseok..?”

“The gardener you’ve been mooning over for the past—what—six months?” Baekhyun’s head is lolled to one side as he sits on the edge of Jongdae’s bed, a teasing grin growing on his features while he eyes the prince at his desk. He sounds too smug for Jongdaes liking. “You’re not that great at hiding it, you know.”

Jongdae continues his attempts to stare a hole through his wall, _his name is Minseok._

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything–”

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Baekhyun rolls his eyes and gets up, stepping towards the window to look out at the sunset from behind silk curtains. “To answer your question from before, just figure out a way to approach him. You’re awkward, but not _that_ awkward, Jongdae.”

Jongdae presses his hands to his face and sinks low into his chair. He mutters a small ‘I’ve tried’, which Baekhyun seems to catch. His friend squints, folds his arms, and leans against the wall. “Minseok is deaf.” 

Jongdae drops his arms to let his eyes fix on Baekhyun and he nods. 

“You’re stubborn.” 

_I’m pathetic._

“You could write to him, give him gifts–court him like the real prince you are.” He saunters over and claps Jongdae’s shoulder. “You’ll come up with something.” 

Jongdae lets out another helpless groan as he watches Baekhyun retreat through the door.

Jongdae throws his head back to glare at the ceiling as if it would be any more help. His head tells him not to be cliche, but gut affirms that it’s the only way. But what would _Minseok_ like? Cries his heart.

Hell, he hardly knows the boy outside of the fact that he’s a gardener and appears to like spending copious amounts of time alone. Minseok appreciates little things. Nature, strawberries, flowers. He’s elegant, blithe and refined; diligent with work. _Minseok is breathtaking._

Suddenly, Jongdae is reminded of one of his classes with Mr.Lee; The art of Origami. Even though Jongdae daydreams through most of the man's classes, something about the process of paper folding reminds him of Minseok’s adept fingers and long chains of dandelions. It would give them something in common, something they can do together, and Jongdae’s heart leaps at the thought of them sitting beneath the apple tree, soft smiles and busy hands.

Praying that it's not too late, Jongdae leaps from his desk, grabs his robes and dashes down the hallway and in the direction of the library, careful not to run into some of the servants carrying out their evening errands. The large oak doors open with a disturbing creak, and Jongdae almost immediately spots his older brother at his usual table between the window and the _Poetry and Arts_ section. Jongdae could almost believe that Junmyeon never leaves the library, his soul bound to the endless towers of books and scrolls. And as usual, he is alone. 

Jongdae startles the prince from his daze when he greets him and asks for directions. Junmyeons face glows at the realisation that Jongdae might finally have an interest akin to his own and easily rises to guide him through the maze. He speaks passionately about art whenever Jongdae is willing to listen, and the pure joy on his face does nothing but lift Jongdae’s spirits too.

Jongdae later returns to his room with a small, leather-bound book no larger than the size of his hand. Sitting at his desk once again, he attentively studies each page, one hand absentmindedly flicking the corners of a small pile of paper he had requested Baekhyun drop by after passing him on the way to the library. His eyes finally land on a particular design, and his mouth quirks. _For my butterfly._

Pale blue paper litters the room, a multitude of shapes ranging from balls of crumpled failures to abandoned abstract forms. Jongdae sits by the flickering light of a candle flame, the sun is long gone. His eyelids are heavy, but his drive for perfection and the rather addicting repeated motions of fold after fold lull him into serenity. His mind clears as if he were meditating, creasing and flipping and turning the paper as the book instructs. 

“What are you working on?”

Jongdae holds back a scream as his eyes flit to the door to spot a familiar head of auburn hair. “Sh-something for Minseok,” he answers, sucking on the side of his finger. He grimaces at the small bubble of blood that rises from the cut, courtesy of Baekhyun's abrupt arrival.

Baekhyun proceeds towards Jongdae and pulls a chair over. He places a pack of band-aids on the desk and grabs Jongdae's wrist. The prince’s irritated huff is interrupted by a yawn and Baekhyun snickers. “It’s late, you should be sleeping.”

“Alright, mother,” Jongdae grumbles, watching through hald-lidded eyes as his friend wraps a band-aid around each of his harmed fingers. 

Baekhyun has always cared about him unconditionally, regardless of status. Holding onto him when the prince felt most alone, standing by his side when his family fought. The two of them grew up alongside one another, inseparable, and despite the fact they’re not that different in terms of age, Baekhyun acted as Jongdae’s rock throughout his childhood. He’s an important piece of Jongdae’s life–he’s closer to Baekhyun than anyone in his family–and Jongdae doesn’t know how he’d survive if they ever were to be forced apart.

Jongdae’s family is complicated, and he always seemed to deviate from their traditional course of action, even from a young age. The line of royals just had to deal with the fact that the young prince was different, thought differently and acted in ways in that they’re not used to. Jongdae brought something new to the table, and after much deliberation, some members broke off. The persistent conflict between other members left a feeling of suppressed tension which Jongdae ultimately deemed as immature and unnecessary. But Baekhyun was always there to help him get through it.

“Go to bed, I’ll tidy up.”

“Noo,” Jongdae whines, arms flapping weakly in an attempt to swat Baekhyun away from his works. His nose scrunches as he lets another yawn slip loose. “‘Wanna finish this…”

Jongdae faces away from Baekhyun and towards his window, catching the moon peer through his curtains, silver glow amalgamating with the warmth of the candles’ flame. 

He drifts off just like that—hypnotised by light—and a little blue paper butterfly cradled in his hands. 

Jongdae wakes just before sunrise the next morning. His back aches after spending the night partly sprawled across the top of his desk. The prince winces at the sight of his messy desk and crushed butterflies he likely thwacked while asleep. Eventually Jongdae picks out one of the cleaner butterflies and adds a last-minute touch; a short message along one of its wings.

_’I think you are beautiful.’_

He leaves the butterfly at the opening to the orchard, perched between the hedge’s leaves and strings of ivy—hard to miss at eyesight—before sprinting back up to his room in fear of being caught. 

Not more than thirty minutes later, when Jongdae is resting at his windowsill, midway through another butterfly, he sees him. The prince pauses, holds his breath, eyebrows tipping up towards his forehead as he observes.

Minseok gently pulls his gift from the hedge, turns for a moment as if to check if anyone was there, then proceeds into the orchard.

Jongdae curses himself for not being closer to gauge Minseok’s reaction.

It then became an enjoyable hobby for Jongdae to spend time analysing the book of origami, practising a range of different folds and patterns, and filling his room with blue paper cranes, swans and numerous flowers. 

Yet he always reserved the butterflies for Minseok. Each with its own message written in neat characters, often concerning how the gardener was operating the day before.

_‘I am insistently drawn to you.’_

When Minseok didn’t spend as much time with those he usually would. 

_‘I wish for your happiness, sleep well tonight.’_

When Minseok looked especially tired. 

_‘Lay down the thoughts that weigh down your mind, and do not worry.’_

When Minseok’s head hung low. 

  
  


It was the butterfly that read _‘My nights are brighter at the thought of you’_ where Minseok paused a little longer. 

Then, he turned to meet Jongdae's gaze from around one of the apple trees. 

At Minseok’s small smile, Jongdae’s heart began to thunder in his chest, and soon his feet were doing the same against the cobble garden path. A blur of colours passing by in rapid succession, and quickly carrying him back to the confines of the palace.

  
  


That was days ago, now, and Jongdae hadn’t left a butterfly since. He contemplates returning to the orchard, to leave another note or to even apologise to Minseok directly, but something in him is holding him back. 

So instead he goes back to observing from his window, from a safe distance. Noticing that, every morning, Minseok works nearer to the hedges than usual; tending to the flowers or trimming leaves. Jongdae is aware of Minseok's fleeting glances sent in the direction of the orchard’s opening, no doubt with the hopes that he’d finally spot another pale blue butterfly settled between the greenery.

Jongdae’s heart aches at the sight. He had his chance, and he missed it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Get off your ass and quit moping, lover boy. The universe isn’t going to align itself to rid you of your despair unless you actually do something about it—” was all the unbeknownst motivation the young prince needed, apparently. 

Jongdae finds himself back at his desk, twirling a pen between his fingers and lightly humming under his breath. He eyes the blue paper situated further to the edge of the tabletop, before stretching back to hunt through his bedside drawers. He perks up with a tiny ‘ah-hah’ and pulls a square of yellow paper out from the bottom compartment. Placing it on his desk, he begins to fold one last butterfly. Each edge is creased with care, Jongdae’s nail running along every fold with precision. He picks his pen back up, and scratches the yellow surface with black ink. Jongdae sits back and smiles, holds the butterfly for a moment, before nodding with satisfaction and turning to blow out the candle.

The prince retires to bed, dreaming of flickering stars that turn to golden butterflies, and a smiling Minseok illuminated by their wings.

Sunrise comes to blind Jongdae through the gap in the curtains, waking him a little later than anticipated. He quickly dresses in his ruffled white shirt and brown slacks, styles his hair back from his forehead, and leaves for the garden.

Jongdae holds the yellow butterfly in one hand as he takes a slightly longer route than before. He convinces himself that it’s to let Minseok get to the orchard before him, but with the way his heart pounds inside his chest and how his clammy hands won’t stop shaking, it can be proved otherwise. He debates picking a few flowers to give to Minseok when he meets him, but the fact that he’s a _gardener_ and probably sees enough of the plants, nevermind the fact that this is where he _works_ , Jongdae labels the idea worthless.

He finds Minseok in his regular spot in the orchard, sitting cross-legged up against one of the largest apple trees. As Jongdae approaches, he expects to see Minseok fidgeting with dandelion stalks or picking a strawberry out of his pouch, but this time, he gently fondles the wings of a small, blue paper butterfly.

_‘I’ll always wait for you’_

After a short pause for breath, Jongdae steps towards Minseok with a small smile. He stoops down and places the yellow butterfly on the ground between them. Minseok's head shoots up, and Jongdae is immediately met with a wide, gummy smile—and Jongdae begins to think that the insects might just live inside his gut too. The prince drops to sit across from Minseok, and clumsily signs his greetings—he spent a few days prior in search of another book, he thought that if he wanted to make an impression, he may as well try to learn the basics. 

Minseok responds with an encouraging nod and light clap of approval. Jongdae’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He relaxes and holds his newest butterfly out to Minseok. The boy’s eyes widen at the offering, and Jongdae stills for a moment. A tiny sliver of worry seeps into the bottom of Jongdae's stomach when Minseok turns away.

But everything comes crashing back into place when Minseok holds out a dainty, yellow paper cat.

Jongdae can’t help but laugh fondly. Albeit it’s not as meticulous as Jongdae’s own craft, he supposes that now he has all the time in the world to teach Minseok—and he knows he’ll cherish Minseok's rather unique interpretation of a feline more than any other gift. 

Finally, Jongdae notices an inscription along its tail, much the same as what he does with his butterflies.

_‘Stay near me, for this plot of orchard-ground is ours.’_

Before Jongdae has the chance to reply, his mouth meets Minseok's. The prince allows his eyes to slip shut as Minseok presses forward, their lips moving slow and soft in tandem. 

Minseok tastes like Spring, like fresh strawberries and the cool rush of a sudden breeze, and Jongdae believes that he has finally found his euphoria.

.⋅ εïз ⋅.


End file.
